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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27216472">Reunite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fogsrollingin/pseuds/fogsrollingin'>fogsrollingin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sam Whumpchester 🎃 Whumptober 2020 [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Affectionate Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Amnesiac Sam Winchester, Angst, Brain Damage, Caring Dean Winchester, Gen, Guilty Dean Winchester, Head Injury, Headaches &amp; Migraines, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Loving Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Stanford Era (Supernatural), Worried Dean Winchester, inability to concentrate for long periods of time, protective Tyson Brady</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:42:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,281</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27216472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fogsrollingin/pseuds/fogsrollingin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a severe accident his sophomore year of Stanford, nobody came for him at the hospital. Until now.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sam Whumpchester 🎃 Whumptober 2020 [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947565</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>144</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Omg Whumptober is almost over 😭. I actually feel so f-ing accomplished though, wow. </p><p>Prompts filled are No 8. Abandoned, No. 26 Migraine (+Head Trauma/Brain Damage), and No. 28 Accidents.</p><p>Also just FYI Dean's not showing up bc Dad's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been back in a few days. This is meant to be a pre-series AU for sure 👍😊</p><p>  <a href="https://fogsrollingin.tumblr.com/post/633087726487486464/title-reunite-author-fogsrollingin-fandom">Tumblr link</a></p><p>  <a href="https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13729646/1/Reunite">FFnet link</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the quiet days, Sam would let a few tears fall. He was really young, he had been a student at Stanford, and no one had come to claim him after the accident. The emergency number on his school records had been disconnected. Or it had never been connected in the first place because when Sam looked up the name attached to his emergency contact, it was William Peter Blatty, the author of The Exorcist. Unlikely he was his emergency contact, unlikely there were multiple William Peter Blatty’s in the United States.</p><p>A dead end there, then. So, no one had come on their own. No one wanted him.</p><p>He'd dropped out of Stanford. The brain damage wasn't that bad - just headaches and trouble focusing - but they were bad enough to hinder a pre-law track at one of the most prestigious schools in the country. Also Sam didn't see the appeal of law anymore. It must've been a calling heavily informed by his past, he figured, and tried to think what staples were in most lawyer's childhoods.</p><p>It was too broad to know, he’d realized. There were so many different motivations for different goals that required a jurisprudence degree. Did he want to be a prosecutor? Defense? Judge? Was it just a stepping stone to go into politics?</p><p>The doctors said his memory might return besides the odd flashes he got here and there (green army men, a black car, a bigger boy's arms around him, a man in a leather jacket who was always leaving) but Sam wasn't holding his breath. As he tried to build something of himself out of the ashes, it actually became a fear. He'd either been abandoned or everyone who loved him was dead, and he was afraid to learn more about either possibility.</p><p>The abandonment hypothetical was the most baffling one to him though because the doctors had said he was healthy with no signs of abuse or malnutrition. He had some scars, a couple broken bones, but nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to suggest he'd had a rough upbringing. Rather, he'd grown up well taken care of. He'd left home (wherever that had been) two years ago because the accident happened summer after his sophomore year.</p><p>What people had kept him unharmed and healthy and given him enough time to study and ace his schoolwork to score a full ride to Stanford? If they weren't dead, how could they just stop caring? <em>For two years.</em></p><p>Today was one of those quiet days the tears could slip. Sam sat at his kitchen table in pajamas, a robe, his feet bare on the cold linoleum. He had work in a couple hours. He tended bar. If he'd stayed in school he'd be halfway through his senior year right now.</p><p>He thought about that Other Sam, the one that probably had a lot of dreams, a lot of plans. That Sam had kept to himself though. He knew because when he was well enough he tried attending his classes once more, hoping a friend would sidle up next to him, clap him on the back, fill him in on his whole life. Instead only a couple people approached him, but they only knew him as friendly acquaintances. A few librarians recognized him. One told him a blonde girl would sometimes come in and meet him but she hadn't seen her in ages. Sam sought her out. Her name was Jessica Moore. She knew nothing about his past and she could tell he was changed. They exchanged numbers but she never called.</p><p>Since the accident, he'd made one friend. His name was Brady, a regular at the bar who’d also dropped out of Stanford about a year prior. Brady was as directionless in life as Sam which he could admit to himself made him feel better. Brady was also strangely protective of him in a way that wasn't entirely unwelcome. Sure, Sam towered over people; he could be intimidating when he wanted to be. Yet Brady's apparent instinct to step up and be the first line of defense before Sam was appreciated.</p><p>And so it went as later that evening a guy entered the bar and walked straight up to where Sam was standing behind the counter. Sam had been bantering with Brady. He only glanced over.</p><p>"Hey man, what can I get you?" He asked, not really paying attention. The man didn't answer and Sam looked up. "You okay, bud?"</p><p>The guy was probably a little older than him but not by much. He had big green eyes, freckles, well-defined lips. He wore a black canvas work jacket and some jewelry but not too much, not like a Nickelback kind of guy. Just a necklace with an ugly golden pendant, a simple thick ring with scratch marks on it that suggested he used it to pop caps off his beers. Sam ignored the unnerving somber disbelief on the man's face and chose a Guinness for him.</p><p>He popped the cap with the opener and slid it across. "Here man, on the house. Looks like you've had a day."</p><p>Brady scoffed. The man kept staring at him and Sam held eye contact, not willing to back down.</p><p>Brady snapped his fingers. "Hey! Earth to weirdo! Take your drink, find a seat, and fuck off."</p><p>"Brady," Sam admonished.</p><p>"What? If I stare you down like this asshat do I get a free drink out of it too, Sam?"</p><p>"Sam."</p><p>Brady and Sam turned back to the guy.</p><p>"Yeah," Sam said uncertainly. "That's my name."</p><p>"Sam Winchester."</p><p>"All right, that's it." Brady hopped off his stool and got in the man's space. "You got a problem? Huh? You better back off, asshole," he spat.</p><p>The man stumbled back, startled, but then held his ground.</p><p>He pulled a flask out and whipped it at Brady. Brady sputtered angrily. "You fucking weirdo." Brady's eyes were livid.</p><p>“What was that?” Sam asked.</p><p>“Fuckin’ water or some shit.”</p><p>"Okay Brady, just… c'mon man, stop, he's harmles-" Sam gasped then when he watched Brady swing and the man just grabbed it, pulled Brady forward and walloped him in the stomach. Brady grunted at the hit and fell to the floor, groaning as he curled up, clutching his waist.</p><p>“Shit,” Sam whispered. “Brady?” He asked cautiously. The guy put his hands up to him to show he was in control, he had only defended himself against Brady. Sam reluctantly nodded, his jaw set.</p><p>“Brady c’mon, get up,” he urged.</p><p>“I’m cool,” Brady gruffed angrily.</p><p>"Sam, we need to talk."</p><p>Sam bristled. “After what you just did with my buddy. You’re lucky I’m not kicking you out. Take your beer and enjoy your night, man,” Sam dismissed.</p><p>“Yeah don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out,” Brady spat. He’d gotten himself into a chair to rest, and hung over the back of it as he held his bruised stomach.</p><p>"It’s important… Sammy,” he breathed the last word, the second syllable of the last word as Sam’s eyes cut to him, blazing and alert like they hadn’t been before.</p><p>Sam clenched his jaw and squared his stance, steeling himself. "Are you from my past?"</p><p>Brady looked up, eyes widening.</p><p>The guy in front of him didn't respond but Sam got his answer when he looked down... in anger? Grief? He could only hope it was shame, that this guy from his past had messed up but he was here now, finally here to tell Sam he had a place, he belonged, he was wanted.</p><p>Yeah, right.</p><p>Wishing for happy outcomes like that were the worst. The number of times Sam had hoped in the beginning... it had been a dark time. Any stranger that gave him a second look and Sam's eyes would light up with expectation, encouragement shining in them to come up to him, ask him if he was Sam Winchester, a cousin, a nephew, a camp counselor, a best friend, a brother, a boyfriend, a son?</p><p>But then he was always deeply disappointed a second later. They'd react with alarm, put out enough to deliberately steer away from him. Brady tried to cheer him up saying ‘hey, on the bright side they were probably all just checking you out. That’s a boost to your self-image, right?’ Sam would smile but that sharp hope dulled every time until it was a worn stump of numbed grief. Sam dismissed everyone now.</p><p>But not tonight, not this guy. Not now.</p><p>Sam fumbled with his cell phone and called Rosie to come downstairs from her apartment and take his shift. The guy looked up, nodded, grabbed the beer Sam had served him, and went to sit down in a dark corner.</p><p>Rosie had caught the edge in Sam's tone and agreed quickly. Sam had never pulled this kind of stunt before and when he said it was an emergency, she believed him.</p><p>Brady slumped from the low chair back to his spot at the bar counter with Sam, sulked and eyed the man in the corner, his arm still wrapped around his waist. Sam gave him another beer and he loosened up a little. "Sam, I don't trust that guy."</p><p>"Brady-"</p><p>"No. I'm going over there with you while you talk to him."</p><p>"That's not necessary," Sam sighed, but he wouldn't mind it either. Brady gave him that look when he knew what Sam was thinking. He knew he was right.</p><p>Sam saw Rosie coming down the fire escape stairs from her apartment above the bar, banged around getting his own beer, and finally lifted the trapdoor come out of his workspace. "C'mon," he intoned as he passed Brady.</p><p>Brady grinned and rapped his knuckles on the polished wood, whispering a psyched ‘all right’ as he got up and followed, his own beer in hand.</p><p>Sam pulled the chair out from the man's table slowly, dragging it out loudly and the man winced, leaned back to look up at him. He glanced at Brady behind him but only for a split second, clearly dismissing him in favor of Sam.</p><p>Sam sat down carefully, took a swig of his own beer that he'd served himself before coming over and asked, "When's my birthday?"</p><p>The man made a face at Brady as he sat down at the table too. "May 2nd, 1983."</p><p>Sam nodded. That'd been on his medical files from Stanford. If only the university had kept his high school transcripts too. Normally the school kept those records for years even after their students had dropped out or graduated but when Sam had gone to admin for them, they couldn't find them. They'd just... disappeared.</p><p>They still had some basics. The date he was born. His birthplace had been Lawrence, Kansas. Sam was practically penniless so he couldn't fly out there to investigate. He couldn't hire anyone to research his family history either. So when Sam was feeling particularly brave and curious to learn whether his family was dead or had abandoned him, he worked to find leads based out of Lawrence himself. It was slow going, though. Without fail whenever he'd sit down in front of a computer to research anything, after an hour he'd feel a headache coming on. Sometimes he could push it to an hour and a half if he took an aspirin. He loathed it but he coped. He napped, he worked out, he went grocery shopping and became a decent cook. He liked the bar a lot; Rosie had offered him the job when she noticed he didn't drink much when he came around. He just liked the atmosphere. The dimly lit, sticky-floored dive with its pool tables and cigarette smoke felt like a vague, shimmering memory of home.</p><p>"Could he," the guy pointed his beer at Brady and broke Sam out of his musings, "leave us alone?"</p><p>"Not yet," Sam replied. Knowing his birthday didn't grant him much trust. The man huffed, pouted. Brady smirked.</p><p>"What's your name?"</p><p>The guy lifted his chin up, assessing. "Dean," he answered slowly. "Ringing any bells, pal?"</p><p>Sam's brows furrowed, he shook his head, and while everybody's guards were up, the first chink in this guy's armor made itself known: he looked hurt for a fleeting moment.</p><p>"Dean," Sam repeated, trying it out. He glanced at Brady and shrugged. Still nothing.</p><p>"Got a last name?"</p><p>"Smith." Sam knew he was lying. Dean looked at Brady appraisingly, then scanned the bar. It was pretty empty tonight.</p><p>"This seems nice, this... job. You got an apartment? A girl?"</p><p>Sam narrowed his eyes. "Cut the shit. What are you to me?"</p><p>Dean got that look again, the hurt one, and then it vanished. He took a swig and chuckled. "I don't know if it'd be better if I didn't tell you."</p><p>"You son of a bitch, <em>tell me</em>," he demanded, eyes misting despite himself. Did this guy really have the answers? Living nearly two years with his whole personal history a mystery, barely scraping by with money, learning he had so much bizarre trivia knowledge on serial killers and folklore on all manner of evil things and even stranger Bourne-style abilities and skills, and no friends or family to come to for help about it. Nobody whatsoever to confide in without being scared they’d do something bad with the information. Was this Dean going to crack it all open for him? Could this be it?</p><p>And this motherfucker had the gall to say he didn't know if it'd be better to withhold?!</p><p>Sam realized he was trembling, angry and scared but desperate, so utterly desperate to know.</p><p>"He's got a right to know, man," Brady said reasonably. Dean's eyes cut to him, dark and disdainful.</p><p>"Hey," Sam snapped at Dean, getting his attention. "Don't look at him like that. You're talking to me, about <em>my</em> life, <em>my</em> past," Sam's voice broke just the slightest bit but Dean caught it. His eyes softened. "Right?" Sam finished, pissed at himself for telegraphing his emotions like that.</p><p>Dean hesitated like he was considering something. "What if... What if I didn't tell you and we could just... hang out? Get to know each other? Play some pool." He suggested it with this upbeat joviality and it broke something in Sam he didn't even know was there. He upturned the table with his left hand and threw a haymaker with his right, straight for Dean's jaw.</p><p>To his surprise, it didn't connect.</p><p>Dean had stumbled out of his chair but when Sam's fist came barreling at him, he'd nimbly ducked.</p><p>They fought. Sam used every move he knew, and he knew a lot even though he still didn't remember how he knew, to best the man but Dean wasn't going down. If anything he was getting a few too many good hits that were slowing Sam down. Sam could tell the man was pulling his punches though. He had a lot of control in his movements, similar to how Sam fought but better, Sam reluctantly admitted as Dean blocked a punch and threw a playful slap to his face.</p><p>Oh, this guy was going <em>down.</em></p><p>Brady called out to him asking if he wanted his help and Sam said no. The fight hadn't graduated to anything serious. But this asshole had just <em>slapped</em> him. It was time to end this and get some damn answers.</p><p>Dean must've recognized the look on his face though because he knew exactly what to do to take Sam down instead.</p><p>The man rammed into him like a linebacker until they both reached the wood-paneled wall. Sam's head whipped backwards into it, a cracking sound, Sam's vision went white and he crumbled.</p><p>"-ammy!"</p><p>Sam gasped and opened his eyes. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall.  Dean was straddling his legs and Brady was trying to pull him off. Sam had opened his eyes just in time to witness Dean head-butting his friend with the back of his head. "No!" Sam yelled, tears in his eyes, his ears ringing and thrumming in agony.</p><p>Sam watched in horror as Dean pulled a dazed Brady down to punch him out cold. Brady crashed to the floor beside Sam.</p><p>"Brady!" Sam cried. His head was splitting, the pain so bad he could barely see. He steeled himself to strike out and defend himself against Dean. No one else would fight for him now that Brady was down.</p><p>A sharp pain behind his eyes had him crying out, grasping his head instead, and the man's hands came up around his. Sam trembled under the migraine's force, the unwanted touches. "Please," he whimpered.</p><p>"Are you okay? Sammy? C'mon." A hand brushed through his hair and Sam shivered again, confused. The man's voice again, this time to somebody else. "It's under control, I promise. No need to call the cops. Look, see? The Brady kid’s already waking up."</p><p>Through hazy pulses of agony, Sam could see Dean was right. Brady was sitting himself up on the floor, holding his head. Rosie's murky form beyond them rippled in his vision. Dean had been talking to her, talking her down.</p><p>He must've succeeded somehow because next thing Sam knew, Dean's hands were back again feeling his neck, his chest, back up to his head. Solicitous touches that Sam didn't understand but they were so... intimate and Sam didn't know this asshole from Adam. He felt vulnerable, so easily exploited. What if this was a con and he couldn't even tell just now because his head was throbbing and he couldn't focus, couldn't think like he knew he once could. If it was a con though, what would any con man see in Sam and want? He didn't have money, he didn't know anyone who did.</p><p>"Sam?"</p><p>"Is this a fucking joke?“ Sam spat. "Mess with the… brain-damaged drop-out?" Sam sobbed and pushed Dean off of him. "Telling me you know me, but you're not gonna tell."</p><p>"Sam, no..."</p><p>Sam twisted so he could face the floor. He got his knees under him. "Fuck you," he hissed but he knew the effect was dampened by the tears breaking down his face. "Fuck," Sam gasped as what felt like a red hot blade seared through his brain again. He pulled his knees up, cradled his head in his hands. He had to go home, ride this out in the dark, but he didn't want to go without knowing. "If you’re really telling the truth, what am I to you?" Sam rasped out. He squinted up at Dean.</p><p>Dean’s lips peeled back in frustration but his eyes were soft and wet looking at him. “We’re brothers. You’re my little brother.”</p><p>Sam’s heart broke but he started laughing even while tears slipped down his face. His head was still pounding. "Where ya been, <em>bro</em>?"</p><p>"Sam-"</p><p>"All this time, where have you been?!" Sam choked out, smacking his fist on the floor. It helped distract from the migraine. "Because I could've used a brother," Sam grated out. "Just one person..." he trailed off, looked away from Dean's sorry face. "There was <em>nobody</em>."</p><p>Sam began to cry in earnest when strong hands basically picked him up off the floor and Dean balanced him against his body. "We're going home. Where do you live?"</p><p>"I'll take you," Brady replied wearily. Sam couldn't look up, the lights too bright, but he gave a thumbs up.</p><p>The three of them shuffled outside and the fresh, windy night air felt good. Sam wanted to pull away from Dean's bracing hold but he was still unsteady.</p><p>Brady had an SUV with a bench seat in the back. Dean pressed up against Sam's side, his arm around his back, and Sam didn't know what to do with this closeness. Nobody had ever felt entitled to it like Dean clearly did. Sam went along with it though.</p><p>"You said brain damage. It's more than amnesia?" Dean asked quietly so Brady wouldn't hear as he got into the front seat and started the car.</p><p>"Uh," Sam barely even debated whether to tell the truth. During migraines he couldn’t think well enough to tell a good lie and he supposed he deemed Dean trustworthy enough with this information. “I can't focus for a long time. And migraines. Bad ones," Sam sniffed.</p><p>Dean rubbed his back, his hand rough and warm and Sam held back tears because this was… this was what family did, what siblings did. They rubbed your back, they asked after your welfare. They took for granted how much trust they had for each other. Dean really hadn’t come off like a person who did these things.</p><p>Sam sniffled again and looked at Dean. "So, we were close?"</p><p>"Yeah, Sammy," he leaned in, their heads touching, the sodium streetlight shafting over them as the vehicle rumbled. Sam's head ached a little less as though his brain knew how important it was to hear what Dean was about to say. "It was just you, me, and Dad but mostly it was you and me. You left for college on bad terms, and while we still checked up on you whenever we were nearby, it's been a long time since either of us have been through California."</p><p>Sam nodded, wiped his cuffs over his eyes. "Okay." He sniffed. "That's fucked up."</p><p>"I'm so sorry, Sammy. I'm here now, though. It's gonna be okay. We're gonna take care of this." Dean gave him a rough kiss on his temple and tightened his arms around him. He relaxed his hold a second later but still kept Sam in a loose hug.</p><p>At the kiss, Sam tried to keep it together. The comforting touches and unabashed affection was overwhelming for him. He’d completely given up finding anything like this and suddenly it just walks into his bar half past five on a Wednesday? He had to get his stupid, damaged head on straight. He was in the backseat of a car with his long lost older brother telling him everything was gonna be okay. Sam struggled to keep the storm pounding away in his head at bay. He pressed a hand to his forehead, pinched the bridge of his nose.</p><p>It was so astonishing that a small part of him wanted to reject it, all of it. Dean had caused his migraine ramming him into a wall and he’d said ‘We're gonna take care of this’ but no damn absent or obscure ‘we’ could ‘take care’ of his permanent cognitive disabilities. This was him now. He'd worked so hard for so long just to get to where he was now. This Dean wasn't going to fix anything, damn it.</p><p>But the gentle way Dean was talking, the myriad of general reassurances that drowned out that specific objectionable one. The man's obvious familiarity with being so comforting...</p><p>Despite himself, Sam's hope was burgeoning this man could be trusted. Really trusted. Somehow, some way, luck finally found him in the bizarre form of a rough-looking dive bar asshole. Who called him "Sammy" with a soft fondness that he never would've expected a dude like this could hold.</p><p>Sam imagined what it could be like if this was authentic. If Dean was going to stay. If Dean was going to tell him who he was. If he in turn would stay to listen to Sam on who he'd become. They could go to a game, if Dean liked sports? A concert? Sam could wear those earplugs that muted the sound enough that it wouldn't trigger a headache. Sam had learned to make fresh pasta last week. He could try making a mushroom and chicken ravioli dish for them?</p><p>"Um," Sam coughed. He looked up at his... brother. God, it was so weird to know it but not remember it.</p><p>But the earnest, open interest in Dean's expression looking back at him helped Sam believe it though. People were closed books most of the time, unwilling to give the benefit of the doubt for whatever people said, whatever they were about to say. Sam could tell Dean was no different normally, from the way he'd been at the bar to the simmering animosity directed at Brady. But it wasn’t the case with <em>him</em>. With Sam, Dean's guards were down. He could just... <em>see</em> it so clearly. With a sinking feeling, a knot of anxiety tying itself up in his gut, he desperately hoped there was still enough of his past self in him for Dean to love him as much as he seemed to right now.</p><p>Well, there was only one way to find out and Sam wasn't a coward.</p><p>He cleared his throat again and squinted at his brother. "When I get home, I gotta take a nap to get over this, but..." Sam inhaled when Dean nodded, squeezed his shoulder in apology.</p><p>"Don't go, okay?" Sam pleaded, the drilling in his head coming back pretty hard all of a sudden.</p><p>Dean gave him a sad smile with a lot of layers to it that Sam couldn't unpack right now. "I won't. I promise, Sammy."</p><p>Sam nodded, his head was splitting and finally he just let himself melt into this man's embrace and knowing this was the best night of his life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sam's bar and bartender job partly inspired by the bizarre Armie Hammer horror movie Wounds I watched earlier this month, haha. </p><p>Thank you so much for reading! Please leave kudos or comments what-have-you if you've got the time. 💛</p><p>PS if you're wondering where the heck my zombie bang fic "hell is empty" update is, I'm delayyyyyyed but I'll be posting it soon, I promise please stick with me on that haha 🤗</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fic is now a WIP! OOF! </p>
<p>Back by popular demand (and instead of the Fae AU I was planning to write, which I was struggling with anyway though so I'm glad this presented itself as an alternative way to fill the rest of Whumptober's prompts), here is chapter T W O taking off immediately after last chapter (no time jumps) and filling the FINAL PROMPTS OF WHUMPTOBER 😱😱😱 for me, #7 "I've Got You" and #30 Ignoring An Injury</p>
<p>Here we go!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam's second floor apartment was a modest size. Light rustic wood and white trimming with saturated blue and yellow accents like a French Provençal beach house. Sam secretly loved it and leaned into the design whenever he picked out furniture.</p>
<p>He staggered inside and stopped short to work the dimmer for the overhead light so it was low. Everything was cast in a warm yellow. Dean and Brady waited patiently before following him inside.</p>
<p>Brady breezed past them to get to the kitchen. He fixed himself a hand towel with ice to help with the swelling on his face courtesy of Dean. Dean glanced at Brady but stayed by Sam's side. Brady watched Dean warily but he'd seen and heard enough to know the guy wasn't really a threat. Especially because literally every fight tonight had been instigated by himself or Sam. He was man enough to admit at least his injuries had come to him fair. And the guy apparently hadn’t known Sam had other head issues besides the amnesia so when he’d rammed him to the wall it wasn’t meant to be as serious as it turned out.</p>
<p>Dean was looking around as Sam made his way through the living room. It was hard not to miss the worn dark blue couch, the scratched white coffee table and other basic furniture clearly thrifted but he also noticed the bowl of change and public transit cards on the side-table, no photos of friends anywhere to be seen, a makeshift drying line with clothes clipped to it outside on a tiny balcony past the living room, and right over there in the corner, hospital bills splayed out in a circle on the floor like Sam had sat down and laid them out around him.</p>
<p>Dean stayed with Sam as they made it past Brady and the kitchen. Dean reluctantly acknowledged a photo on the fridge, just Sam and Brady at their bar. They proceeded into the small hallway that led to a bathroom on the left and then Sam’s bedroom on the right. Sam stopped at the end of the hall, a linen closet with a louvered door, and to the side, Sam's closed bedroom door. Sam paused.</p>
<p>"Okay just," Sam swallowed. "Give me a few hours." He glanced over at them.</p>
<p>Brady leaned against the wall separating the kitchen and hallway, holding an iced towel to his jaw. He'd found one of Sam's beers in the fridge. He nodded respectfully at Sam, lifted the beer like a cheers.</p>
<p>Dean on the other hand remained hovering over him, a firm grip on Sam's elbow that Sam had been hoping he'd loosen once he asked for time. Sam felt Dean's other hand was lingering behind his back as well. Dude had obviously not gotten the memo that when you asked for time in your bedroom, it meant space too. He was practically cornered unless he opened the door.</p>
<p>Sam huffed and stood his ground, eyebrows raised. Dean stared right back, equally expectant.</p>
<p>"C'mon," Dean nodded at the door.</p>
<p>"I can't talk to you," Sam stuttered, upset.</p>
<p>"I got you, I hear you, c'mon," Dean insisted, leaning into Sam even more. Moving his arm like he was going to get the knob himself if Sam wasn’t.</p>
<p>"Dean, leave him alone, man," Brady interjected, stepping into things just as Dean opened it and shuffled Sam inside.</p>
<p>"What the hell," Brady hissed as Sam squawked indignantly.</p>
<p>"I got this," Dean snarled and closed the door in his face.</p>
<p>Sam had managed to break free of Dean while he was busy shutting Brady out. He stumbled a little into the center of his room, massaged his temples. His head was still a demolition show and this added drama wasn't helping. He just wanted Dean to go so he could climb into bed and deal with this.</p>
<p>"What do you want?" He grated out. A particularly sharp pain struck through the right side of his brain. He gasped and faltered and Dean was suddenly up in his space again, bracing him carefully.</p>
<p>"C'mon, into bed," he muttered, pushing Sam backwards until he hit the mattress. "Sit," Dean barely whispered, a gentle pressure and Sam was in a controlled descent. Next thing he knew he was looking at the back of Dean's head because he'd stooped down to untie his shoelaces.</p>
<p>Bewildered, Sam touched Dean's shoulder. "What're you doing?"</p>
<p>Dean pulled one boot off his foot and between Sam's surprise and Dean's bad grip in the dark, it fell to the wood floor with a loud clunk.</p>
<p>Instantly Brady was opening the door. "Hey is everything oka-" but he stopped short at the sight of Sam slumped on the edge of his bed with one socked foot on the floor and Dean crouched before him untying his other shoe.</p>
<p>"Go get a glass of water for him, Brady," Dean suggested. His tone was new, a mix of exasperated and reluctant fondness.</p>
<p>Brady had already left for the kitchen when Sam slurred, "Brady, y'don't have to." He was zoning out, not registering things quite so well.</p>
<p>"Sam, stay with me a few minutes longer," Dean ordered, making a soft snap in front of Sam's face.</p>
<p>Sam startled and slapped his hand away. "Who the fuck are you, man. Get out." He turned into his bed.</p>
<p>"Okay, sorry. Sorry, Sam."</p>
<p>"Yeah," Sam harrumphed as he turned and sank to his bed, the mattress molding to him, his pillow blissfully cool.</p>
<p>The covers pulled out from under him, Sam let out an unconscious whine but then Dean was whipping them up to fall over him. Sam shivered and Dean sat on the edge of the bed. Sam jerked, shocked when he felt Dean tucking the blankets in around him. He didn't know what to say about any of this. No one had taken care of him like this outside hospital nurses who were fine and all but it was clinical, it was their jobs. This was so… weird.</p>
<p>"Are there any meds you take, Sammy? Can I get them for you?" Dean’s voice was solicitous and soothing at the same time.</p>
<p>Sam got past the lump in his throat. "Yeah, the uh... Cylindrille. Somewhere on the... second shelf."</p>
<p>"In the bathroom?"</p>
<p>"Bathroom, yeah," he confirmed, still stunned. Sam had only recently been prescribed Cylindrille and it wasn't like he was ignoring the injury but he kept forgetting the meds were there. He was used to just enduring it. 'Toughing it out' the nurses would say sometimes while he'd been in the hospital. But now he had meds that were supposed to lessen the intensity and shorten the time it would take to get through this. And he wouldn't have remembered if Dean hadn't been so invasive, prodding him, pissing him off but also helping. Substantially helping.</p>
<p>Brady came in just then carrying a tall glass of water. Dean stood and turned.</p>
<p>"Stay with him, I'll be right back," Dean said as he left.</p>
<p>Brady nodded, eyes glazed, mouth slightly agape, clearly just as unsettled by Dean's jarringly caring behavior. When Dean left, Brady turned back to Sam.</p>
<p>"He's scary," he whispered, setting the glass down on the nightstand. Sam's eyes were closed but his brows furrowed.</p>
<p>"Is he?"</p>
<p>Brady shrugged, forgetting Sam wasn't using his eyes. He stood back up and looked around Sam's room, uncertain. He was really out of his depth here.</p>
<p>"You, uh, you need anything else, man?" He asked.</p>
<p>There was a stilted pause.</p>
<p>"Um..." Sam swallowed, squeezed his eyes. There was something Brady could do but a quick glance at his friend had him dismissing it. "No I'm good, Brady. Thanks." He let him off the hook, Brady's discomfort making him feel guilty anyway.</p>
<p>"Cool, I'll be outside if you need me."</p>
<p>"'kay," Sam muttered. He would've rolled his eyes. Brady tended to raid his fridge and play video games whenever he came over. He almost always paid when they went out though so it was an equitable friendship regardless. It just wasn't a friendship that knew how to assist Sam's disabilities. In the same way, it wasn't a friendship that knew how to get Brady to stop drinking every day or snorting blow on the weekends.</p>
<p>Sam wondered what Dean's issues would turn out to be. Everybody had their baggage.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>When Dean opened the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, he was taken aback. So many orange prescription bottles with Costco-sized general med bottles interspersed between them. Sam had never been a sickly kid but damn, it seemed like that had changed for him as an adult now-?</p>
<p>The closer Dean looked the less likely it seemed though, Dean discovered with relief. There was very little for cold or flu treatments here. All the over-the-counter meds were pain killers and anti-inflammatories.</p>
<p>It took forever to find the Cylindrille. Dean started to overheat and took his jacket off, threw it on the closed toilet seat as he continued to peruse. Finally he found it and popped out into the hallway and heard what turned out to be Brady in the kitchen.</p>
<p>"Dude," Dean hissed. Brady froze and looked at him.</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"I told you to stay with him."</p>
<p>"He just needs time, man. Leave him-"</p>
<p>"You say 'leave him alone' one more time tonight I swear to God," Dean gritted out. Brady swallowed nervously and put his hands up, his right holding the neck of the beer he'd gotten earlier.</p>
<p>"Jesus, okay. Go badger him. I'm sure that works <em>great</em> on migraines."</p>
<p>Dean glared at Brady. Inwardly he acknowledged it was funny. “Smartass,” Dean snapped as he turned back to Sam's room. A few steps and he stopped dead at the threshold, shocked to see a mangy dark-colored cat curled up on Sam's chest.</p>
<p>"Are you serious, you have a cat?" Dean asked quietly as he approached.</p>
<p>Sam's eyelids fluttered as he tightened his hold on the animal. It purred like a motor at the touch.</p>
<p>"Slinky."</p>
<p>Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and held up the pills. Sam's eyes widened. "Oh right, yeah." He sat up sorely, careful with the cat who adjusted to his lap easily enough.</p>
<p>Sam took the pills as Dean studied the feline's lack of an ear and eye on its wizened gray face, its black coat spotted with gray streaks and spots. Obviously a rescue. How <em>Sam</em>.</p>
<p>"Slinky, huh?"</p>
<p>Sam finished drinking water and nodded. Dean put his hand in front of Slinky to inspect. It sniffed and started purring again when Dean moved to pet its head and ear a couple times.</p>
<p>"I guess you're probably not allergic either... if we're related."</p>
<p>Dean huffed and nodded, scratching the cat's neck.</p>
<p>"Are we really related? Like... same Mom and Dad?"</p>
<p>Dean swallowed and nodded, raising his eyes to meet Sam's. "Hard to believe?"</p>
<p>"I just... I didn't think there was anyone so close to me."</p>
<p>The streetlights outside cast enough light through Sam's main window for them to see each other. The youngest did a double-take when he saw a tear slip down Dean's cheek. There was so much sorrow and regret in Dean's gaze.</p>
<p>"Um," Dean coughed, breaking the moment, "do you need more water?"</p>
<p>"No, but," Sam stopped, catching himself. This was the same favor he would've asked Brady if his friend hadn't looked so put out.</p>
<p>Dean, though. Dean was so different.</p>
<p>"But what?"</p>
<p>"Um," Sam paused again. "There's a refrigerated eye thing in the fridge. It helps-" he gestured vaguely to his head.</p>
<p>"Got it." Dean sprung to action. He jogged his way to the kitchen and back, only noticing Brady’s oblique presence in the living room for a moment before snatching the blue eye mask in the fridge and returning less than twenty seconds later.</p>
<p>"Thank you," Sam breathed, taking it and settling it along the contours of his face. The light chill of it was heaven.</p>
<p>He realized he hadn't thought twice about applying it in front of Dean even though it looked like something you'd find at a ridiculous spa retreat. Somehow Sam couldn't really bring himself to care though. Dean seemed a lot more interested in helping him than judging the stuff in Sam's home.</p>
<p>"Rest," Dean murmured, squeezing Sam's hand a second before letting go and walking out.</p>
<p>Sam pulled Slinky closer against him in bed and actually managed to sleep not long after Dean left.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AT LONG LAST WHUMPTOBER IS COMPLETE FOR ME!!! I'M FREEEEEE </p>
<p>But no this month has been a R I D E, y'all. Thank you so much to all my amazing readers and commenters who kept me engaged and writing and stirring my creative juices ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) There aren't words, I'm so so grateful</p>
<p>And finally, here's a question. For chapter 3 of this story, there is gonna be a <i>ton</i> of dialogue. I love writing dialogue, most of the time it punches out of me and it's so much fun, but question to my readers who pushed to keep this story going: what questions do you think Sam and Dean would most want to know from each other right now? I can't guarantee I'll get everybody's, but I feel like hearing your thoughts on this will help me craft a fascinating discussion between Sam and Dean once we get there, eh?</p>
<p>Thank you SO MUCH for reading! 🎃💛🧡🖤 HAPPY WHUMPTOBER ONE AND ALL</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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